


[Now revised and being reposted!] Blackboards and Broomsticks

by Glisseo



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Teacher!Harry AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-01
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-10-26 08:49:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,227
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10783482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Glisseo/pseuds/Glisseo
Summary: NOTE: This work is now being rewritten slightly and turned into a longer story, but this version will remain here for those who want it.“I wonder,” she said, “if you would be interested in taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher next term.”Harry stared. Professor McGonagall shuffled some papers on her desk and waited.“Me?” he blurted out eventually. “Teach? A teacher?”





	[Now revised and being reposted!] Blackboards and Broomsticks

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a post floating around tumblr about Harry teaching at Hogwarts and having a quiet existence instead of being an Auror. Now, I completely understand the rationale for Auror Harry, but the idea of Professor Potter being the absolute coolest and chilling in the staffroom with Professor Longbottom was just too appealing to resist ...

_**April 2006**_  
  
The sky had been threatening rain for hours, and now down it came, no doubt to the dismay of the handful of students out on the Quidditch pitch. Watching from the window of her office, Professor McGonagall discerned a few Gryffindors amongst the group and smiled. They had a good team this year, though perhaps not as exciting as previous years. The Seeker, a slight third-year girl, showed promise, but certainly she was not in the same league as a few of her predecessors. Charlie Weasley, for instance, or …   
  
She moved away from the window and glanced at the clock. He was late. She wondered, not for the first time, if there was much point in holding this meeting. She could not allow all her hopes to lie with it; there was, surely, only the slightest chance that he would agree.   
  
The knock on the door came as she was settling herself behind her desk.   
  
“Enter!”  
  
She was amused to observe the slightly hesitant way in which he came into the room. He pushed back his hood, looking around. His eyes lingered on the portrait behind her desk, but Albus was asleep – or at least, Minerva thought, pretending to be. A few of the other portraits called out greetings, and Harry raised a hand in acknowledgement.   
  
Minerva gestured for him to take a seat.  
  
“Biscuit?” she offered, proffering the tin.   
  
“Er – thanks.”   
  
He shifted in his seat, clearly not completely at ease. She guessed, correctly, that he was remembering the times he had sat across from her before.   
  
“Do relax, Potter,” she said dryly, and his head snapped up in surprise. “You are not in trouble. Or at least, if you are, then I assure you I know nothing about it.”  
  
At last, Harry grinned abashedly.  
  
“Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

-  
He still could not help feeling, however, somewhat like a teenager in disgrace. Never mind that he was twenty-five, and a father; there was something about Minerva McGonagall’s beady gaze that made him feel he was about to be admonished. He hoped he could manoeuvre this meeting without having to address her by any name. She would, he thought, most likely not be impressed if he called her ‘Professor’.   
  
“How is your family?” she asked him now, and he felt a glimmer of pleasure at those words.  
  
“Great,” he said, aware that he was grinning like an idiot and unable to stop it. “Really great.”   
  
“I believe James will soon be three –”  
  
“In September, yeah.”  
  
“And you’re expecting another child?”  
  
He was surprised, until he remembered that of course, the whole wizarding world was kept apprised of the details of his life, whether he liked it or not.  
  
“Yes, it won’t be long now. About six weeks.”  
  
“How wonderful,” Professor McGonagall said, her steeliness softening. “Do give my best wishes to Ginny. The sports reporting has improved beyond recognition since she took over. I thoroughly enjoy reading it now.”  
  
“I’ll tell her,” said Harry proudly.

“Do. Now – I shan’t beat around the bush any longer – the reason I wanted to speak to you –”  
  
When he had received the owl, requesting a meeting with the Headmistress, Harry had had little idea of what to expect. He guessed that Ginny did, from the look in her eye as she read the letter; but she had not shared her suspicions.   
  
He was certainly not expecting Professor McGonagall to say what she did next.   
  
“I wonder,” she said, “if you would be interested in taking the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher next term.”  
  
Harry stared. Professor McGonagall shuffled some papers on her desk and waited.  
  
“ _Me?_ ” he blurted out eventually. “Teach? A teacher?”  
  
“You,” she said evenly. “Professor Savage has, as you may be aware, been with us for nearly nine years now, so we are quite sure that the position is safe. However, he has decided to take early retirement, and so I find myself in need of his replacement. I thought at once of you.”  
  
“But –  _why_?” said Harry, before he could stop himself.   
  
McGonagall raised an eyebrow.   
  
“Well, I understand that you have some experience in the subject area.”  
  
Harry tried not to laugh.   
  
“I realise, of course, that you already have a career,” she went on. “One in which, by all accounts, you are very successful. I simply wanted to offer you the position, in the hope that you might be interested in a change.”  
  
Harry sat back in his chair and thought about it. He had joined the Aurors immediately following the end of the war; they had needed new recruits, and it had been his dream. He had achieved a lot, it was true; he knew he was a good Auror. He also knew that he was in line to replace his boss, Gawain, when he too retired. A lot of people wanted him to take that job; they trusted him, with all that he had done.   
  
But lately … lately he could not deny that he was enjoying the job less and less. Since James was born, he was very aware that it was not entirely compatible with having a family. He resented the long hours in the office, often far too keen to get home and see his wife and son, and on the trips away he missed them acutely. He envied Ron, who had been able to take as much time as he liked to look after his daughter so Hermione could keep working. That was another thing, too; he felt guilty that Ginny had given up her glittering career to have their children, while he was still able to work his dream job, with the thrills and the excitement that … weren’t even really there any more.   
  
Was it still his dream job?  
  
Neville worked at Hogwarts now. He looked happier and happier every time Harry saw him; his students adored him, and Harry knew he loved knowing that he could make a difference to them, to whether or not they had a good day, to be that teacher they could come to with problems.   
  
And if he, Harry, were to take this job … 

Professor McGonagall gave a small cough as he realised, with a start, that he had started planning lessons.   
  
“I’ll … I’ll have to talk to Ginny,” he said, feeling slightly dazed.  
  
She nodded. “Understandably. I do not require an answer at once. I would rather you made a considered decision, rather than … rushing into anything.”  
  
“Who, me? I’d never do that,” said Harry. She smiled.   
  
“Of course. Well, I shan’t keep you.” She rose to her feet, and Harry, on slightly shaky legs, stood too, pulling his hood over his head. He had had to choose his path through the castle very carefully so as to avoid being spotted by students, and wished he’d thought to bring his Invisibility Cloak.  
  
“Thank you for coming. And – Harry?”   
  
At the door, Harry turned back.   
  
“Yes?”  
  
“You do realise,” said Professor McGonagall, her eyes glinting, “that if we were to become colleagues, I would naturally expect you to call me Minerva.”  
  
Harry swallowed.   
  
“Er – right.”  
  
“I look forward to hearing from you,” she said, and he closed the door behind him, thinking that he could not, possibly, have expected that.   
  
_Any_ of it.  
  


* * *

  
“Wait, so - are you going to take it?” asked Ron in surprise.  
  
It was Sunday afternoon, and he and Hermione had dropped in on the Potters, as they often did, where Harry had filled them in on his meeting with McGonagall. Ron had baby Rose strapped to his chest in a Muggle contraption given to them by Hermione’s parents. Her hair was already as vivid as his.   
  
Harry shrugged. “Maybe.”   
  
His tone was deliberately casual, but by this point, he was now relatively sure what his answer was going to be. His heart thumped harder at the thought, and he took a large gulp of tea to calm himself.     
  
“I think it’s brilliant, Harry,” said Hermione.   
  
“You do?”   
  
“Well, yeah, I think it’s  _brilliant_ ,” said Ron, with an  _isn’t that obvious_ look Harry thought with amusement that he had picked up from Hermione. “You’ll be a great teacher, think how good you were at the DA, and you were only a teenager then. I just didn’t think you’d want to leave the Aurors.”  
  
“Neither did I,” Harry admitted. “But … well, it’s not been the same since James was born. I don’t think I love it like I used to. And it might be a nice change to have a job where my life isn’t in danger,” he added wryly.  
  
“Bit dull for you, I would have thought,” said Ron. Harry laughed.   
  
“So you really think you might say yes?” Hermione asked curiously.   
  
Beside him, Harry felt Ginny gently squeeze his hand. He looked at her, and she smiled encouragingly.   
  
He had talked it over with her, of course. She had not been nearly as surprised as he was. When he had walked in and told her that McGonagall had offered him a job, she had merely nodded. “I thought so,” she had said, before revealing that she had heard rumour of Savage’s retirement from Neville.   
  
“ _He_ wondered if McGonagall might ask you. He hoped she would, but he doesn’t expect that you’d say yes. I mean, you’ve already got a job.” Her bright eyes had met Harry’s. “But you’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”  
  
And Harry had sat down and poured out his doubts about his future with the Aurors, and his excitement at the thought of teaching again. He had confessed his desire that he could be like Lupin; patient, but cool, and inspiring. Most of all, he told her, he was thrilled by the prospect of a job with normal hours, where he could spend the evenings and weekends with his family.   
  
“But I don’t know – what you do think?” he had asked his wife. Ginny had laughed.   
  
“Harry, I think it’s amazing, but it doesn’t matter what I think.  _You_ want this.”  
  
And he had agreed, and kissed her, and her bump. But she was wrong about one thing. “It will always matter to me,” he had said, “what you think.”  
  
Now, he smiled back, before turning to Ron and Hermione.   
  
“I am, yeah.”  
  
Hermione gasped. Ron whooped, then stopped abruptly before Rose awoke.   
  
“That’s great, Harry!”   
  
“Yeah, you’ll be there when Rose goes!” said Ron enthusiastically. “And all the family, actually. Teddy’ll be going in a few years, won’t he? Ha - imagine all the kids’ faces when they find out they’ve got  _Harry Potter_ as their teacher!”  
  
“I’m sure the hero worship will end when he gives them their first essay,” said Ginny teasingly.   
  
“Would that have stopped it for you, d’you think?” Ron asked, and Ginny glowered at him.   
  
“I’ll write to McGonagall tonight,” Harry said, feeling thoroughly elated, or at least until he remembered her parting words. He stopped grinning. “Did you know I’ll have to call her  _Minerva?_ ”  
  
_**September 2006**  
  
_ Harry stood in front of the bedroom mirror, nervously straightening his robes. His hair was untidy, but that was nothing new. Besides, he reminded himself, everyone already knew what he looked like. When the students looked up at the staff table, they would immediately recognise him …   
  
He swallowed.   
  
“You’ll be fine.”   
  
Ginny had come up behind him, Al in her arms. She rested a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.   
  
He wasn’t even teaching today, just going into his classroom to make sure he was prepared for the next day, and then attending the welcome feast. The latter, however, was making him more anxious than the idea of taking his first class. All those eyes on him …   
  
“Sit next to Hagrid,” Ginny advised. “And Neville. The three of you can get really drunk and you won’t notice  _anyone_ looking at you.”  
  
Harry snorted.   
  
“This is your mother’s advice,” he told little Al, who reached out and grabbed his outstretched finger. “Get drunk.”  
  
“It’s never failed me yet,” said Ginny breezily. She regarded him seriously. “Harry, you’ll be fine, really you will. And I’ll be thinking of you.”  
  
“You know, you can see this place from my office,” said Harry, who had been delighted to discover this. They had only moved a month ago, having stumbled across the house in Hogsmeade, with its views of Hogwarts and the surrounding mountains. But Harry already loved it, and the thought of being able to look out and know that his family was right there, and he would be able to walk home and see them at the end of the day, was something quite wonderful.   
  
Ginny, who knew all this, and how much it meant to him, smiled.   
  
“You’d better get going.”  
  
She saw him to the door. James, who would be going to the village nursery several days a week, hugged him around the legs and left a sticky handprint on the hem of his robes. Harry, feeling oddly emotional – he was only going up the road, after all – kissed his sons and his wife and made to leave.   
  
“Good luck,” said Ginny. “Professor Potter!”  
  
She paused, frowning.   
  
“Oh, no. All the girls are going to fancy you, aren’t they?”  
  
“ _Are_ they?” said Harry in horror.   
  


* * *

It felt distinctly odd to be sitting up at the top table, even if he had (following Ginny’s advice) seated himself in between Hagrid and Neville, and even though it had been years since he had sat at the Gryffindor table. It would take a while, he thought, before he got used to this new vantage point.   
  
Sitting on his right, Neville nudged him.   
  
“Weird, isn’t it?” he muttered. “On my first day, I came in and went to sit with the Gryffindors.  _They_ thought it was funny, at least …”  
  
Harry, snorting, opened his mouth to reply, but his attention was suddenly diverted as the doors to the Great Hall swung open. In poured the students, hundreds and hundreds of black pointed hats, all talking loudly and excitedly as they took their seats. Harry swallowed painfully. It would not be long, he knew, before they started to notice the new face at the staff table; and sure enough, within minutes, he noticed faces turning his way, then more and more as people alerted their friends, pictures of bewildered astonishment and excitement. Deeply wishing he could have been allowed to wear his Cloak, or better yet, skip the feast all together (Professor McGonagall – no,  _Minerva_ \-  had dismissed both of these suggestions), Harry hurriedly immersed himself in conversation with Neville and Hagrid, trying to block out the whispers he could now hear sweeping the hall.   
  
“Is it -?”  
  
“Look!  _Look!_ ”  
  
“It can’t be, why would he –”  
  
“He must be teaching here!”  
  
“But it’s –”  
  
“It’s him!”  
  
“ _Harry Potter!”_ _  
  
_ “Harry Potter!” echoed the voices across all the tables, over and over, until at last the Potions mistress and Deputy Head, a jolly witch called Henrietta Bloom, appeared at the doors, leading the line of nervy-looking first years. The rest of the students quietened, watching them, but Harry saw that many eyes still flickered to him as the Sorting Ceremony began.   
  
He found that he was rather enjoying himself; it was rather comforting to listen to the Sorting Hat’s song knowing, this time, that he was unlikely to get into any trouble or life-threatening situations during this school year. He calculated quickly in his head and realised that these first years would have been born during his fourth year at Hogwarts. They, at least, could be safe in the knowledge that their Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher was not a Death Eater in disguise, he thought wryly.   
  
The applause for the Sorting Hat’s song faded away, and Professor Bloom informed the wide-eyed first years that they were to come forwards and put it on when she called their name. The first – “Andrews, Angus!” – was pale and visibly trembling as he sat down on the stool.   
  
“GRYFFINDOR!” cried the Hat. Harry, Neville and Hagrid applauded loudly with the rest, and Angus, looking slightly shell-shocked, scurried off to the Gryffindor table.   
  
He recalled quite vividly his own Sorting; how the whispers had broken out as his name was called; how the Hat had deliberated over where to place him.  _Plenty of courage, I see. Not a bad mind, either …_ He wondered, as ‘Kendall, Rosemary’ took several minutes to be placed in Ravenclaw, if any of these first years were arguing with the Hat, sure of which house they wanted to be in, or which they didn’t. He realised that he was looking forward to getting to know these students.   
  
The last pupil, a broad, cheerful-looking boy called Augustus Wright, was Sorted into Slytherin, and Professor Bloom carried the Hat and stool from the Hall as McGonagall got to her feet. Silence fell at once.  
  
“Welcome,” she said crisply. “I hope you have all had a good summer, and are ready to begin a new year at Hogwarts. Before we begin the feast, for which we are grateful to the school house-elves, I have a few things I would like to mention.”  
  
Harry stiffened. Hagrid gave him a reassuring pat on the hand, which hurt.   
  
“Firstly, following the retirement of Professor Savage at the end of last term, I am pleased to welcome Professor Potter to the position of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.”   
  
The rest of the staff began to clap at once, effectively covering the flood of reactions from the students, who, looking stunned, began to join in. Hagrid was clapping so loudly it sounded like thunder; to Harry’s astonishment, he heard several cheers and whoops from the students. Face growing warm, he raised his hand and smiled sheepishly.   
  
His heart continued to race even as McGonagall finished her announcements and the feast appeared on the tables; but, he reflected, reaching for the roast potatoes, it had not been nearly as bad as he had imagined most nights for the last week. Tomorrow was another story – his first day as a proper teacher – but for now, he felt relatively chuffed.   
                       

* * *

Harry’s first class, first thing on Monday morning, was the Gryffindor and Ravenclaw fifth years. He reached his classroom while everyone was still at breakfast, having only managed a few mouthfuls of porridge himself at home (James had helpfully smeared the rest on the table), and attempted to familiarise himself with the names on the class list. He was worried about this class being his first. The fifth years had already had four years of his predecessor. At fifteen, they were more likely to challenge him than the younger years. He wasn’t daft enough to expect that they wouldn’t have questions for him, and had resolved that he would attempt – within reason – to answer them, rather than pretending he was just an ordinary teacher. Of course they would be curious, and he had to accept that. However, he thought wryly as he heard a stampede of footsteps in the corridor, accepting it didn’t do much to help his nerves.   
  
He took a deep breath and went to the door. Outside the classroom, his class had assembled. They were talking, but stopped as soon as Harry appeared. He gave them as easy a smile as he could manage.  
  
“Good morning. Come in, sit down …”   
  
They did so, muttering to each other as they found seats. Harry perched on his desk and faced them all.   
  
“So,” he began. “In case you missed it last night, I’m Professor Potter. I know it’s a bit of a pain to have a different teacher, especially for OWL year, but Professor Savage has left me notes on what you’ve already covered, so I’m hoping to make the – er - transition as smooth as possible.”   
  
A girl in the second row put her hand up. Harry, inwardly wincing, nodded at her.   
  
“How come you’re teaching here?” she asked. “I mean, I thought you were an Auror …”  
  
“Right,” said Harry. “Well – sorry, what’s your name?”   
  
“Felicity.”  
  
“Right, Felicity - I  _was_ an Auror, but Professor McGonagall offered me this job when Professor Savage retired, so …”  
  
“Why?” asked a dark-haired boy bluntly.   
  
He needed a better way of learning names, Harry thought anxiously. He remembered how Lupin had seemed to know all their names straight away. How had he done that?   
  
“I felt like a change,” he said simply, shrugging. The boy raised his eyebrows. Harry paused, then said, “OK, I know – sorry, your name -?”  
  
“Connelly. Matthew Connelly.”  
  
“Look, I know it might seem mad to you,” said Harry. “Giving up being an Auror for teaching. I mean, being an Auror is pretty cool …”  
  
He noticed that the whole class was listening intently, and felt slightly bolder.   
  
“But it’s also hard work. Long days and nights. Some people will always enjoy the danger and thrill and all that, but for me … well, I had a  _fairly_  eventful adolescence –”  
  
This brought a titter from some people. “And at this point, I’m not really looking for more of that. I want to settle down and be boring.” More laughter. “And that’s why I’m here. Does that answer your question? Or everyone’s questions?” he added, looking round.   
  
“I have a question,” said another girl, putting up her hand. “Nina,” she said, before Harry could ask. “It’s a bit, um, stupid. But – all the stuff that people say you did – is it all true?”  
  
“That’s not stupid,” said Harry, smiling at her. She blushed, and – remembering Ginny’s words - he quickly stopped. “I can’t tell you honestly if it’s all true, because there are probably lots of things said about me that I’ve never even heard. Some things are true …”  
  
“Like that you defeated Voldemort when you were seventeen,” said someone else eagerly.   
  
“Right, that would be one. And some things definitely  _aren’t_. For instance, I don’t have any tattoos, and certainly not one of my own face, which is what I read last week.”  
  
Everyone laughed, but several more hands went up. Harry thought for a moment.   
  
“When’s our last lesson of the week?” He found the timetable and scanned it. “Thursday afternoon … how about this? For the last ten minutes of that lesson, every week, you can ask me stuff. I can’t promise I’ll be able to answer everything, or at least not in detail, but I’ll try.”  
  
This suggestion was met with a murmur of agreement. “Does anyone have anything they’re really desperate to ask right now?”   
  
A girl in the back row put her hand up.   
  
“Could I … could I have your wife’s autograph?”  
  
There was another wave of laughter, and Harry joined in. “I’ll ask her,” he promised. “OK. Better get on with some learning or I’ll be in trouble. So – you’ve covered Dark creatures, you’ve covered what constitutes Dark magic – now we’re going to be looking at the ways you can defend yourself against it. It’s not all about spells, but I thought we’d start with one of the most useful spells you  _can_ learn – the Shield Charm.” He stood up and clapped his hands. “Who wants to curse me?”  
  
Nobody spoke. The class were looking at each other, and him, warily.   
  
“No one?” said Harry. “That makes a change.” They laughed. “C’mon – I just need someone to come and throw a jinx or hex at me, so I can show you how to repel it.”  
  
A tall, skinny boy tentatively raised his hand, grinning at his neighbour. Harry beckoned him up to the front. “Great! OK, wand out –” He wielded his own, at which the boy – “Marvin, sir” – looked distinctly worried. Harry threw him a reassuring nod.   
  
“ _Petrificus Totalus!_ ”  
  
“ _Protego!_ ” Harry shouted, and Marvin’s Body-Bind hex bounced off the invisible shield produced. He looked, Harry noted as he lowered his wand, rather relieved.   
  
“Thank you, Marvin,” he said brightly. “That there is your Shield Charm. It’ll protect you against almost all curses, jinxes and hexes, except – what, can anyone think? Felicity?”  
  
“The Unforgivable Curses, sir.”  
  
“Excellent, yeah. Right, so – let’s pair up, and have a go at practicing it – take turns jinxing each other and repelling it. I’ll come round and see how you’re doing, I’m not expecting it to be perfect … and no serious curses, OK, you can’t hate each other that much …”  
  
When they had got to their feet, he pointed his wand at the desks and chairs, sweeping them to one side to clear a space, and the class moved into pairs. He walked around, watching carefully, correcting a grip here and there, encouraging those who seemed to be struggling. When the time came to pack away, he was pleased with what he’d seen, although there was progress to be made; but that was fine; that was what he was there for.  
  
“Great work, everyone,” he called as they picked up their bags, and felt rewarded when they smiled back at him, already chattering about the lesson as they surged towards the door.   
  
“ _\- never_ do practicals first lesson back –”  
  
“- so cool -”  
  
“ – can’t wait ‘til next lesson –”  
  
Harry very much wanted to run home and tell Ginny how it had gone, but instead had to prepare himself for the second years who would be coming in next. Still, he thought, still – he had done it, they had not hated him, he hadn’t bored them to tears. Hand on his lesson plan, he paused to savour that old rush, the elatedness he had felt after a good DA session, and knew, for certain now, that he had made the right decision.   
  
The sound of scuffling shoes and excited chatter announced the arrival of the second years.   
  
“Good morning!” Harry said, ushering them in. “Don’t look so scared, I don’t bite … not on Mondays, anyway …”  
  
                                     

* * *

  
Harry was very happy to discover that he was to have Friday afternoons free in his timetable. At the end of the first week, he packed away his things and headed out of the castle. The students still eyed him curiously, he noticed self-consciously, whispering to their friends, but a few older pupils from his NEWT classes hailed him brightly as they passed. Harry waved, pleased. He felt very light of heart as he crossed the grounds, striding towards the cabin at the edge of the forest. Smoke was curling from the chimney, and as Harry knocked loudly, the sound of frantic barking came from within. As soon as the door swung open, Fang skittered across the floor and barreled into Harry’s knees, nearly sending him flying. Harry bent down to greet the great dog and had his face vigorously licked for his trouble.  
  
“C’mon – back, yeh brute,” Hagrid grunted, grabbing his collar and pulling him back into the little house. “All righ’, Harry?”  
  
“Fine,” said Harry, stepping inside. He thought, not for the first time, how little the place had changed since his first visit there; it was remarkably comforting. He did, however, have a quick check for dragon eggs. “You?”   
  
The kettle was whistling on the stove, and Hagrid passed him a bucket-sized mug of strong tea as he sat down. “Ah, can’ complain,” he said. “Me NEWT bunch are a nice lot, had ‘em this mornin’. Seem very keen, not always the case with these. Well, yeh never know really, but s’nice to get a good class. Yeh’ll be findin’ that,” he added, grinning at Harry.   
  
“They mostly seem all right,” said Harry. “Very well-behaved. But I think it’ll take a while for them to get used to the fact that I’m just a teacher. I expect they’ll be talking over me and playing tricks before too long.”  
  
“Nah,” said Hagrid. “There’s not too many like tha’, now. Mind yeh, it won’ be long ‘til the Weasleys are back here, will it? Yeh’ll have yeh work cut out for yeh with all o’ them here, and they won’ be scared o’ yeh, either.”  
  
“I know,” said Harry ruefully. “Just thinking of James … he’s a terror at the moment, although Arthur says even Bill was the same, so we’re not  _too_ worried.”  
  
“An’ he’s all righ’ with his brother, is he?” asked Hagrid, offering Harry a plate of rock cakes, which he declined.  
  
“Well, I think that’s partly why he’s a bit more – er – robust, but he’s mostly all right, yeah. Want to see some pictures?” Harry knew he didn’t need to ask – Hagrid loved seeing photographs of his family. He had been absolutely over the moon to discover that the Potters were moving to Hogsmeade, and would be able to visit far more often.   
  
He pulled several slightly crumpled pictures from the inside pocket of his robes. He had already passed them around the staff room and his NEWT class, as one seventh year Hufflepuff had congratulated him, shyly, on the birth of his second son and asked if he had a photo. The snaps of James, Al and Teddy, who had stayed over the previous weekend, had been met with much squealing and cooing, and it had taken a good ten minutes to get back to the topic at hand.   
  
“Aaah,” said Hagrid mistily, gazing at the pictures Harry handed him. “I tell yeh, Harry – he looks jus’ like yeh did, when yeh was born. Yer mum and dad sent me pictures, yeh know –”  
  
“Did they?” Harry asked with interest. “Have – have you still got them?”  
  
“I reckon I will, somewhere – I’ll have ter have a look,” said Hagrid. “Dead chuffed, I were, tha’ they’d thought o’ me – with everythin’ they had on their plates – but yer dad said in the letter, he knew I’d like ter see yeh. Tiny thing. But Al -” he touched the picture with a large, gentle finger – “he looks just like yeh.”  
  
Harry smiled.   
  
“It’s amazing having so much time with him. I just wish it had been the same when James was born.”  
  
“Yeh did what yeh could,” said Hagrid. “An’ he won’ remember anyway. Yeh’ve got the time now, tha’s wha’ matters. There’s not a lot o’ people who woulda given up wha’ yeh had, yeh know. The power, an’ the glory - but yeh’ve never wanted tha’, have yeh?” He regarded Harry fondly, his beetle-black eyes warm. “An’ tha’s why yeh’ll make a cracking teacher.”  
  
“D’you think?” said Harry, touched.   
  
“O’ course I do,” Hagrid snorted. “Look at yeh – yeh was teachin’ at fifteen, and doin’ a better job o’ it than most adults. Jus’ the fact tha’ yeh’ve never got a big head from all yeh fame –”  
  
“Well, I do still carry signed photos,” said Harry. “You know, just in case.”  
  
Hagrid chuckled. “Yeh know wha’ I mean. Professor McGonagall asked us staff, yeh know, what we thought o’ yeh replacing Savage, an’ I stood up an’ I said, yeh won’ find no better than Harry, no matter where yeh look – I mean, yeh know yer stuff, yeh were a brilliant Auror, but yeh’re good an’ patient and yeh’ll care abou’ those kids. So I said, yeh’ll be making a mistake ter hire anyone else. Well, she knew tha’, o’ course she did, dead fond of yeh, yeh know – and now here we are. An’ I couldn’ be happier.”  
  
Harry’s heart swelled as he looked at Hagrid, finding himself lost for words.   
  
“Thanks,” he said eventually. “I’ll make sure I always come to you for my references.”   
  
“Yeh won’ need another one,” said Hagrid sternly. “Yeh’re gonna be the best ruddy teacher this school’s ever seen. I can feel it in me bones.”


End file.
